Friendship, Hatred and Science
by Regasssa
Summary: The battle with Szayel Aporro Granz ends without interruption; this is what happens to Ishida after that, how his life changes and how his friendships suffer. Does Kurosaki's vow extend to saving even him? AU/Gen/Violence/Dark - Potentially Ichigo/Uryuu
1. The End is Always the Beginning

Disclaimer: Bleach and all the characters named and involved below belong to Tite Kubo.

A/N: Although I've been writing for many years now, this is my first foray into Bleach. It's been a long time since I've used this web service.

* * * * *

The last breaths of death hurt; his brain, starved of oxygen, struggled to force his one remaining lung to tear in each tortured breath. He couldn't force himself to stop, and so he was made to suffer one painful breath after another, wondering whether the next one would be his last. The blue sky above Uryuu Ishida seemed to go on forever -- it reminded him of the home he would never return to -- but even that was just one of Aizen's tricks. This sky was a fake one suspended underneath the darkness of Hueco Mundo's night.

Another terrible breath. How many did he have left now? A few feet from him lay the shattered body of Abarai Renji, face down in the rubble from the destruction of Szayel Aporro Granz's Espada palace. It was impossible to tell whether he was alive or not, and even Kurosaki's fierce flame of reiatsu seemed to be fading now.

Damn... He closed his eyes as tightly as he could, trying to imagine away the science textbook images of how his insides should look. Somehow it only made the pain more difficult to bear to see it in neatly drawn lines, with tidy labels stating what the organs and bones had once been. His last thoughts couldn't be about that... He had to think about what he'd put on the line to come here -- what his failure would mean. Orihime was out there somewhere waiting to be rescued. He would never see her again.

The abject misery of that realisation hurt more than all the punishment that had been done to his body. He had never expected to die here...but shouldn't he have? He was weak -- in comparison to Kurosaki, his power was negligible. And yet without his help, would Kurosaki have made it this far? They'd thrown themselves at the walls of the enemy's fortress, expecting the same dumb luck to carry them through that had kept them alive during their attack on Seireitei.

His next breath gurgled, and he coughed, not surprised to taste the familiar coppery tang of blood on his tongue. He was going to drown, slowly -- it would be more painful than bleeding to death, blood pressure dropping until his heart couldn't beat any more. In that respect, Renji was lucky.

Was this what it felt like to die?

"Open your eyes, Quincy."

Open his eyes and face his killer. Szayel's voice purred with the satisfaction and arrogance of an easy victory, he was smiling around his words; a hollow, Arrancar smile. If he was going to die he would do it as a proud Quincy, as an Ishida, looking fiercely at the man who had defeated him -- not as the frightened schoolboy Uryuu, who even now tried to hide from the world in his dying moments, tried to hide from his killer.

"You'll die any moment," Szayel pushed. "Wouldn't you like to hear what I have to say, first?"

Blood and sweat stung his eyes as he forced them open. The bright blue sky cast the Arrancar into shadow above him, that much at least was a relief. He could pretend to be fearless without having to see the hollow's face. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't manage a word; his one remaining lung was still struggling just to keep him breathing.

Szayel crouched down, features swimming into focus -- the vast killer-wings had vanished, leaving the tidy scientist behind once more. After all that fighting they hadn't even left a scratch. Uryuu didn't resist as his glasses were removed, leaving him in a grateful state of short-sightedness.

"I've changed my mind about killing you," Szayel said, sweetly. One long fingered hand swept into focus, gloved fingers falling gently on his neck. It was a little late for that, Uryuu thought, closing his eyes again rather than trying to resist being touched. Any moment, Szayel had said. His body had been crushed from the inside, and there was no way to fix that kind of damage. The pulse that had been roaring in his ears was growing threadier now, so that he could almost hear the blood pouring out from his internal lesions.

"Any idiot can kill something," Szayel sang, and now Uryuu was sure that he was brimming with pure arrogance. "The real talent is in nursing the flame of life. Luckily for you, I've conquered immortality."

Immortal...? No, it couldn't be... He forced his eyes back open, though it felt as though he were trying to lift bricks with his eyelids, staring up at the Arrancar. How could a monster like this be immortal? He tried to speak, but gurgled instead, and Szayel lifted one elegant finger to his lips to silence him. "As beautiful as you look with your white lips stained with your own blood, I'm afraid trying to talk will kill you before I get started, and that would be rather a waste, wouldn't it?"

The prick of a needle stung his throat, but that tiny pain was nothing to the raging agony of what came after, as his insides seemed to ignite all at once. Everything went blissfully black.

------

Where was he...? His body felt heavy, but his breath was coming without difficulty, both lungs working when he took a gulp of air. The sole source of any discomfort was that his throat was dry as though he had been sleeping too long, a mere inconvenience in comparison to his near death experience. His eyes felt heavy, his glasses were wonky, and his hair was sticking to his mouth, but he was very much alive.

"I know you're awake, Quincy, your pulse has quickened. I think you'll find that you can sit up now, I've repaired the damage that was done to your spine."

Uryuu forced his eyes open with great effort, testing out his arms by reaching up to push his hair out of his face. Drool had stuck some of the strands to his chin -- had he slept with his mouth open? He sat up heavily, only now looking at his surroundings.

Apparently he was sitting on the floor in the middle of a dark laboratory. There were walls of shiny black monitors and opalescent white countertops covered with flashing lights and interesting symbols. On a huge island towering over him on the right were experiments in progress -- he could just about see the severed head of a hollow, its eyes still glowing and alive beneath it's mask, electrodes sticking out of it. His hands ran instinctively over his own face, checking for anything that might be sticking out of him, and he tried to stand up, yelping in shock as he hit an invisible ceiling and found himself suddenly sitting down again. Experimentation found walls in every direction.

So he was caged, was he? Caged and dressed in a thin white kimono that let in too much cold. Szayel looked down at him with lively eyes, as though he were a favourite pet that had just learned how to obey a new command. "I thought I'd tell you about my experiment. You should be pleased -- I don't indulge many of my labrats with explanations."

Labrat?! He wasn't going to be experimented on! He wouldn't let it happen! Inside he was fighting, panicking; he even thought about throwing a fit, leaping at the no doubt indestructible walls of his cage in an effort to break free, but he knew without trying that exhausting himself wasn't going to get him out of this situation. He cleared his throat before he tried to speak. "I thought I no longer interested you?" His voice felt unused, his throat rough, but it felt good to be able to form words again.

"That was very short-sighted of me, wasn't it? I realised just in time that I could have much more fun with you alive. Well...alive for a little while. I'd like to see you die in far more controlled circumstances."

He'd been saved just to be killed again? Experimented on like a lab animal? It was an intentional affront to his pride to treat him this way, an affront to the pride of the Quincy, hunted, persecuted, and then finally experimented on until they were destroyed! "Why? One human dying is the same as any other!"

Szayel laughed. Damn, he hated it when he laughed like that; it made him want to rip his hair out, to scream and shout and fight like an animal in some desperate attempt at freedom. His laughter brought the panic welling back up inside of him like boiling water. The Arrancar put his hands on the outside of the invisible box and dropped his head against it, coming altogether too close, and yet still unreachable through the barrier. He caught his breath before he spoke. "I'm not planning on starving you or burning you. Haven't you noticed it, already? The box you're in?"

"Noticed what?" Nothing felt different...what was so strange about this box? It was freezing in here, but that was really the only thing. The walls weren't closing in, but suddenly it seemed uncomfortably stuffy, as though someone had taken all of the oxygen out -- no, that was just the panic again -- there was plenty of air, but the thought of an unknown killer trapped with him in the box... Something entirely out of his control... Was this how his grandfather had felt when Mayuri had taken him? His hands had closed into tight fists at his sides, nails digging into the palms of his hands; he was aware of the heaviness of his own breathing.

Szayel's unearthly smile spread a little wider. "It contains no spirit particles -- something like the palace you were in before. Since the box contains no spirit particles, you cannot absorb them. So I wonder, Quincy, how long will you live without them?"

No spirit particles? None at all? Well the joke was on the Arrancar. He'd survived without spirit particles before, hadn't he? The weight on his chest still refused to budge; if anything, this Arrancar had a brilliant comprehension of things that Uryuu did not. Death was probably unavoidable.

"It won't work," he said, out loud, trying to be braver than he felt. "I don't need spirit particles to survive."

"Do you think so?" Szayel asked, waving a hand above his head. A moment later an Arrancar fraccion knelt behind him, and he sat down on the monster's back as though it were a chair. "Even humans absorb a certain amount of spirit particles from their surroundings. Did you think the Quincy powers evolved on their own from nothing?"

Actually, he'd never even thought about it. That Quincy had the power to absorb and use spirit particles had always been something that he'd taken for granted. He'd never considered the first Quincy, how they had learned to master the technique so they could protect themselves from Hollows. It had never seemed important that they were also humans underneath.

"Would a human die if they were deprived of spirit particles?" Uryuu asked, slowly.

"Eventually. But you, Quincy... Your use of spirit particles is also a dependence on them; your very physiology has adapted to their use. I am expecting it to kill you much more quickly." Szayel's smile had progressed to 'cat with the cream'. He had gone from the scientist lording over his precious experiment, to the eager master, using his dominance over the situation to torture him. He was thoroughly enjoying Uryuu's discomfort now, wasn't he?

Would Kurosaki try to rescue him as well as Orihime? He wasn't sure he would, after all, they were still enemies, weren't they? Wasn't that what he'd said on the way here?

"Your friends won't find you here, Quincy. This room is protected by a magnificent defence system. If they even tried to come here, I would simply turn them away, and they would keep running in the other direction."

"They aren't my friends," Uryuu spat, kneeling now. His hair brushed against the ceiling when he sat up straight. "I don't expect them to come."

"But you thought it, didn't you?"

"You know what I'm thinking now?" he asked, glowering at the Arrancar. How was that even possible?

Szayel laughed again, "Anything is possible with the application of science, Quincy. Don't doubt its potential."

Where the hell were they? His hands and feet felt cold, although when he touched them to his chest he discovered that they were just as warm as the rest of his body. Was this what spirit particle starvation felt like? He seemed to remember feeling cold after his fight with Mayuri, every step becoming more and more difficult. That battle had warmed him through; the spirit particles had been searing hot, filling him with a fire that pulsed through him with every heartbeat.

"I thought I told you... Your friends aren't coming."

"And I thought I told you that they weren't my friends," Ishida burbled. He tried, not for the first time, to blow on his hands to warm them up, but it simply didn't work -- the chill wasn't real, it was a figment of his imagination constructed by his brain to tell him that he needed spirit particles.

Szayel turned away from the monitor he was watching. "Don't you want to watch the battle?"

"I don't need to watch it," Uryuu said, out loud. "I know Kurosaki will win."

"Ulquiorra is only toying with him, Quincy," Szayel condemned. "If I were to measure it in your standards... Hmmm..." He closed his eyes, as though he were really thinking about it. "...I would say that Kurosaki's full power is less than half of what Ulquiorra is capable of. Of course, he is a very interesting specimen; a Shinigami with the reiatsu of an Arrancar. It's a shame there will be nothing left of him to experiment on when the battle is over."

"Kurosaki will win," Uryuu said again, louder this time, as though Szayel had not heard him the first time. "He can't afford to lose."

"You're right about that one thing," Szayel agreed. "He can't afford to lose. But then, there will be nowhere for him to return to. Even if he does win, and even if he does somehow escape Hueco Mundo before Aizen-sama returns, his home will be long gone before then. Your home too, Quincy. Don't you have family in Karakura Town?"

His father... No, don't let him -- He tried to block the thoughts from his mind, but it was already too late.

"Your father?"

Now Szayel seemed far less interested in watching the battle. Both of his eyes were on Uryuu again, and he slowly uncoiled from the chair he was sitting in.

"I'm afraid he will never know of your fate; he will be dead before our experiment comes to an end."

"My father doesn't care," Uryuu said, bitterly. "And since I've long since come to terms with that, you can't possibly use it against me."

The predatory smile had returned to the Arrancar's face. "You forget, I can see into your head. All those insecurities and regrets... You're so human, Quincy, it almost makes me sick."

Uryuu was tempted to turn away, but if he didn't hold firm now he would never have another chance. He would die in here eventually, after all. "Say whatever the hell you like."

"You shouldn't tempt me," Szayel purred, coming closer to his box. There was something dangerous reflecting back at him in the light of his glasses. "I know all about your constant effort to earn your father's recognition. Using techniques that would threaten the life of even a talented Quincy archer, first in your class, and still not enough of a genius for him. Never loved, never comforted, never congratulated. And now, you will never be mourned. You've worked so very hard, haven't you _Uryuu_, to die and be forgotten here."

He was absolutely still, staring into the eyes underneath the reflection. How...? He broke his gaze away, aware that he was shaking. Szayel had shot a cold arrow of self-hatred deep into his heart -- and he hadn't even seen him draw.

"Pathetic. You're just a little boy, Quincy, playing with live ammunition. You shot yourself; I had nothing to do with it."

* * * * *


	2. As Though From a Dream

How much time had passed? There was a heaviness bearing down on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. His fingers felt numb with cold. Was he really dying? Had Szayel finally given up on his experiment and decided to poison him through the water feeder suspended on his translucent wall. No...that wasn't it. It felt like the air was getting heavier, somehow, crushing him. He couldn't think of a single poison that worked like that.

His skin was wet, but it was impossible to tell if he was sweating with fever; his perception of heat had faded long ago; still, his movements were slurred, his head dizzy -- he accidentally knocked his glasses from his face, a testament to his lacking coordination.

"You aren't feeling well, are you? This is what they call withdrawal -- your heart is skipping beats, blood pressure soaring. Your skin is hypersensitive, your motor control is failing. Your father's a doctor, isn't he? So you know that the state you are in, you might die at any time. Soon you will be unable to move, and the experiment will be over."

Where was Szayel now? Uryuu couldn't see him in the spinning blurs and splotches that now made up his vision. Even the voice seemed distorted, and the scratching of lead on paper seemed dreadfully loud, as though Szayel were grating his nails against his skull.

"Stop this..." his voice was slurred; his tongue refused to work as it was supposed to. Was this how he was supposed to die? He had pledged to do so much good -- to protect people from Hollows because the Shinigami could not. He was going to die here; an experiment in a box, tachycardic and trembling from cold with a scientist leaning over him, taking notes on his demise with a self-satisfied smile and a fucking _pencil_!

There was a loud beep that echoed around in his head and turned into a bright orange splotch on the back of his eyes, and Szayel's feet rang out like the sound of an elephant stampede in a supermarket, roaring in echoing, booming reverb over the speaker-system.

"It seems as though I'm needed," he sounded disappointed. "Such a dreadful shame; I would have thoroughly enjoyed the show. However, my cameras will collect all the information I need, and I will be able to watch it as often as I like once Aizen-sama's plan is complete. Don't be too disappointed, Quincy; you are the last of your kind, after all -- it's not even as though I can use what I've learned in the future. But it has been fun, hasn't it?"

Uryuu heard his own ragged whimper, hating himself the moment it had fallen out of his mouth, and as Szayel's laughter echoed to nothingness, was stung by his own desperation. There was no pride in dying this way, not even in dying as a Quincy, as an Ishida. He was alone; alone in a dark laboratory, and Kurosaki had not come to save him.

Alone. Bitter thoughts chewed at his burning skin. Had he pushed everyone away? Did anyone know the real him, underneath the proud surface that he wore? No...not even his father. He didn't leave behind any friends, only acquaintances who had flinched away from the cold hard surface of the Quincy archer, letting him fight with them only until he was too weak to fight any more. Where was the pride in being remembered only as a plastic man who had died in battle, where nobody remembered the frightened boy who had fought valiantly for his friends, for his life.

It was all gone, every opportunity he'd ever had to become someone. He had thrown it all away for the sake of pride, and only his sensei had known. He wanted to shake Kurosaki by the shoulders, to ask him to be friends, to hug and comfort Orihime. He was delirious now, he knew; it must be a fever. He felt so wretchedly cold, inside and out, and he could hear his heartbeat thundering brokenly in his ears, the thready untidy beat of a horse with three legs trying to run from the pursuing black shadow of death. He was dying...dying, and his last thoughts were about the things he would never do. How he would never get to kiss...

"This is magnificent! My my..."

Who...who had come to interrupt his final moments now? It must be an Arrancar. Uryuu didn't bother opening his eyes, even though he felt he should recognise the voice. Even if he did he was sure he wouldn't be able to see. He turned his head away from the sound. Just a few seconds more and he would be dead, and then he didn't care what they did to him. Just a few seconds...

"Hmm? And what do we have here?"

"Mayuri-sama!"

"Eh...what is it, Nemu?"

Those names... Could it be that the Shinigami had finally come? Was this just one more of Szayel's cruel tricks to tear away his last vestige of hope. He forced his eyes open, though it probably took every ounce of energy he had to do even that.

"Quincy-san..." Was Nemu the black blur standing above him? She seemed to be coming closer, and then all of a sudden she screamed and jumped back. Why? A flush of warmth plunged down over him like a blanket, seeping into his skin, and Uryuu caught his breath, eyelashes fluttering. The voices above him were clearer now, and he recognised them distinctly; Mayuri and Nemu Kurotsuchi. This couldn't be a trick!

"Idiot girl! Can't you see he's in a state of spirit particle deprivation? This box must be some kind of barrier...how fascinating..." There was movement, and then something large fell toward his face, vanishing before it touched him. Sheer, brilliant warmth plunged over him, like being thrown into a bath full of hot water; but it was too hot! He screamed as it scolded him, not only his skin but deep into his body. What had that crazy Shinigami done to him?!

There was movement, and then everything began to fade; his vision turning black, his breathing becoming more laboured. Anaesthetic... He let it swallow him up, grateful, even if it meant that he would simply die painlessly. The blackness poured in around him like a Hueco Mundo night, and he surrendered to it.

-------

"Wake up, Quincy."

He didn't want to. Couldn't Szayel just leave him to die in peace? But that wasn't Szayel's voice, was it? Gradually, Uryuu opened his eyes, and instantly wished he'd kept them closed as his last few memories of the waking world began to creep back to him. He'd been rescued...

"Aren't you pleased to see me? Perhaps you'd have preferred that I leave you to die in Hueco Mundo?"

His head was pounding. Left him to die in Hueco Mundo? Uryuu opened his eyes again and forced himself gradually upright. He hadn't been seeing things; it was the Shinigami Captain Mayuri that looked in at him from outside the box. The colours in his face blurred together, but it would be hard not to recognise him, even without his glasses on. He remembered his voice booming from outside the glass box...and pain.

"You must have lots of questions, but I am a very busy man. Since you are indeed still alive, I'll be getting back to work."

"Wait!" Uryuu croaked, moving toward the glass wall, but Mayuri was already moving away. "Wait!" he yelled, his throat aching when he raised his voice so high. "I'm not one of your experiments! Let me out!"

He sank back down, pulling his knees up to his chest. Wait! he thought, desperately. How had he got here? Why was he still in this box? When could he go home? He slumped against the glass, lifting a hand up to push against his acheing forehead. How long had it been? How long had he been in Szayel's box, and how long had he been here? His head felt like he had slept too long, but perhaps that was just the side effect of whatever cure it was that Mayuri had given him.

He let his head rest against the wall of the cage until he was sure he was most definitely alive. It wouldn't do much good to be making such a fuss if he was dead, would it? But no...his muscles all responded - albeit slowly - when he urged them to; his eyesight settled into the familiar short-sightedness that was comfortable to him; and eventually his brain even seemed to be working a little faster. He lifted his hands and stared at them for a moment, then pushed his palms tightly together and began touching his fingertips together, cycling back and forth. His control was back, his mind was working again - the simple exercise was even now a little clumsy, but if he had tried it in Hueco Mundo, he knew he would probably have been unable to even put his hands together.

Uryuu let his eyes drift to the laboratory around him. It was difficult to make out anything, regardless of his eyesight; the room was dark, and only the monitors shone a stark white that hurt his eyes when he looked straight at them. If there were Shinigami here he would probably have difficulty seeing them...except... Something moved over the front of a monitor, casting a black silhouette for a moment.

The dark figure came closer -- Uryuu listened to the footsteps; a woman's footsteps, and leant forward slightly.

"Nemu, wasn't it?"

There wasn't a sound, but he was sure he'd got it right.

"Please," he said, "When can I go home?"

Still no answer, but finally Nemu finished whatever she was doing and knelt down, so that Uryuu could just about make out her features as she swam into his field of vision. "You can't go home yet, Quincy-san. You can't leave this box. If you did..." she seemed meek, hesitating to look around the laboratory as though frightened. "If you did then you'd die."

"Nemu!"

Uryuu felt himself jump, but the Shinigami couldn't seem to get far enough away from him when Mayuri called her name. "Coming, Mayuri-sama!"

-------

"Catch."

He almost didn't see it but he certainly felt it. Mayuri had thrown an apple through the barrier, but before it could reach his outstretched hands, it turned into glittering silver spirit particles and then vanished. Moments later he felt the warmness spreading across his skin like a summer breeze; could feel the energy buzzing in his fingers. It wasn't enough, and the feeling quickly faded, leaving emptiness behind.

"Do you understand now, Quincy? You are a danger to Seireitei, and it is my responsibility as a Captain of the Gotei 13 to protect this place from you. And in the meantime..."

A danger...he'd drank away all the spirit particles of that apple before he could even catch it. He'd done that before...gorging himself on the free energy that made up the whole of Seireitei itself. But those had been exceptional circumstances. As a Quincy he was capable of absorbing natural spirit particles in the air, but breaking apart things into their constituent parts and then absorbing them... Wait... "In the meantime?! I'm not some experiment for you to prod and poke at!"

He could feel the panic settling in; a kind of claustrophobia that was drowning him. Trapped inside this box, unable to leave. At the mercy of this...this _monster! _Mayuri had persecuted the Quincy, tortured them physically and mentally, maimed and murdered them! His grandfather; his sensei -- and now him, unable to resist, coveted by one mad scientist after another one. Even if Mayuri could let him out he wouldn't; he could see that now. "I'm not going to stay here and let you do this to me," he cried, aware that his voice was very ragged, that he was losing what little calm he had left after his ordeal with Szayel.

"A thirsty man should drink slowly; if he throws himself into the ocean he will drown. Seireitei is the ocean, Quincy. You would destroy yourself long before you destroyed us. Part of me would like to see what would happen..."

Uryuu looked up, sharply. Yes...of course he would. Quincy were just curious experiments to this man. His hands were shaking, his shoulders rising and falling with every gasping breath. Monster...this man was a monster! "I won't let you experiment on me!"

"Let me? Let me? You're stupider than I thought, Quincy. Let me? The only way for you to ever leave that box is to _let me_ play with you." Mayuri was undeniably serene, even when he was pleased with himself, but his eyes danced with delight at his mad genius.

"I..." he wasn't sure what to say. Mayuri would let him leave the box? No, it had to be a trick. He snapped his jaw shut, steeling his resolve. "Like I'd believe that," he hissed.

Mayuri turned away, clearly bored with the way the conversation was turning. As he did, another question occurred to Ishida. "Wait! Did we beat Aizen?"

"Did we beat Aizen? Do you ever bother to use that pitiful brain of yours? You wouldn't be here if we'd lost."

"A-and...Orihime? Kurosaki?"

"Your friends survived." Uryuu opened his mouth to interrupt, but Mayuri was ignoring him - he could tell clearly enough that it was the back of the Shinigami's head that he was looking at now, at least. "They know where you are but they haven't visited yet."

Hadn't visited...perhaps they were just busy? Yes...that had to be it... He sank down, frowning at his knees as he thought about it. If they knew that he was ill like this then why hadn't they come? Were they injured too? Yes -- that had to be the reason. It couldn't possibly be that they didn't want to. After all, he had risked his life to try and save Orihime... They'd come. They had to.


	3. Long Days and Sakura Petals

Pink splotches danced down from the ceiling, turning blue as they came closer, splitting apart into bright, brilliant silver, only to be devoured before they could touch him.

"The cherry blossoms are falling, Quincy. Finally things will stop being so sickeningly pink."

More sakura petals swam through the air toward him, and Uryuu sighed, looking toward the source of Mayuri's voice. "Is this how you lighten the mood? You throw petals at me? I want to see the sky. I want to go home. How long's that going to take?!" The days had begun to wear at him -- the back of his eyelids had ceased being interesting, and the laboratory never changed. The days blurred together, seeming to go on forever, and he was sure he was going to lose his mind in here. Maybe that was what Mayuri was actually up to...

"Don't be such a fool... I'm simply enjoying watching your power destroying beautiful things. Of course, I could let you out right now..."

Uryuu scowled, looking away from Mayuri again. "I want it to stop," he said, loudly. "Can't you just stop playing and fix me?!"

"I am fixing you, Quincy. Every time I drop something into the barrier I am building your resistance...when you can touch objects, we'll be able to make the experiments more interesting, won't we?"

Building up his resistance...? And just how long was that going to take? It had already seemed like weeks, and nothing had changed.

Nor had anyone come to see him. It had been lonely in the box; with only Mayuri and occasionally Nemu for company, and only the black and white emptiness of the lab. Since he couldn't touch objects he was starved of human contact, of real food, of books.

He had run out of textbooks to recite in his mind, and had started to craft increasingly miserable lines of haiku in an effort to focus himself on something. He longed to feel the sun on his face, if only for a little while; to stand up to his full height and stretch his arms right up above his head until he heard his joints crack from the effort...

Mayuri was talking, but Uryuu had long since learned that most of his words were meant to inflict pain of one kind of another. The 12th squad captain enjoyed the discomfort of his victims; their torture. Even though Uryuu was not strictly the same kind of experiment, it did not change the kind of monster that Mayuri was.

"...shinigami have come back to Soul Society for the Cherry Blossom Festival. Captain Kuchiki organises it every year, and of course, every member of the Kuchiki family must attend."

Kuchiki...Rukia? "Wait...when did they leave? They came back for the festival?"

They'd left him here without even coming to visit? It seemed so wrong, somehow. A desperate part of him was sure that Kurosaki would do no such thing; that he would have valued Uryuu's help at least enough to show interest in his healing - that perhaps Orihime would have come to see him to attempt to heal him in her own way, or at least to cry on the other side of the box and tell him how sad she was that he'd got hurt coming to rescue her. Why wasn't Chad there to sit and...to sit with him? They had been injured together so often; both of them had almost been killed fighting for Kurosaki over and over again. Where were they?!

"Don't you ever listen to a word I say, Quincy?" Mayuri had stepped off into the darkness, but his white haori was still visible in the reflected light of the computer screens. "It's spring, Quincy; the sakura petals are falling."

That was really the point after all, wasn't it? They had left for Hueco Mundo in September, when the leaves had been turning yellow, and now it was spring, and everything was coming back to life. How much of that time had been spent in Szayel's laboratory? How much of it had been spent here? He buried his face in his hands, trying to make sense of it all.

*****

Time ceased to exist. Each day seemed to be a suspension of time, where one breath would come after another, and his heartbeat would slowly march ever onwards. It would almost be a pleasure to slip into the peacefulness of death now, when life was no longer worth living. Kurosaki had gone home without coming to see him, Mayuri had told him, and a piece of him had flaked off and shattered. Nobody was coming, only Nemu and Mayuri, day after day, dropping objects through the barrier.

Once the apple had almost come close enough for him to touch it -- he opened his hand in surprise, so sure had he been that it wouldn't come close, and then all at once it sparkled and vanished into nothingness, leaving him disappointed.

Hope, however, was not entirely lost. One morning when he opened his eyes, it was to find a bright red apple beside his head, entirely intact. It stayed that way for almost half a minute before it vanished; but it was time in which Uryuu was finally able to work out the process by which he could prevent the instant destruction of the apple.

After that, the tests began to get easier. He was getting better! His reward was to eat the food that was passed through his barrier; simple foods at first, pieces of fruit and rice cakes. The flavours erupted over his tongue as though he had never tasted them before; sweet and sour and savoury. Rice had never tasted so good!

They began to run tests to try out his control, his protestations at being experimented on dying on his lips. Nemu would put four items into the box, and then Mayuri would name each of them in turn, and Uryuu would have to absorb them in order. It didn't work at first, and part of Uryuu was sure that the Shinigami must be mad; but as it persevered it became easier - more and more possible - and Mayuri became increasingly fascinated with the strange talent..

One of the last tests involved Nemu entering the box herself. It was a mark of Uryuu's developed control that he did not cause her any accidental harm, and the reward for this was something else he had longed for; the touch of another person. It was incidental, of course -- the box was small, and there wasn't really enough room for them both inside of it, but her hand on his shoulder was very real, and her fingers were warm through the thin white fabric of his kimono. She looked straight at him, clearly a little frightened. "When we rescued you," she said, and her voice was soft, her warm, sweet breath gusting across his skin, "I put my hand into the box and Quincy-san absorbed it."

"I'm sorry," Uryuu replied, glancing toward her hands which were both intact.

Nemu caught him looking and smiled. "Mayuri-sama healed me a fortnight later because he said I was more useful with two hands."

"Two weeks? He left you with only one hand for two weeks?" he scowled, raising his eyes towards where Mayuri stood above them. "Why would you do that?"

"Don't you know me well enough yet, Quincy? I do not suffer fools."

He lifted his hand, touching it tentatively to Nemu's. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he said again.

"And keep your hands off my daughter, Quincy," Mayuri snapped, shortly.

* * * * *

Warm. He was warm like he'd fallen asleep beside a raging fire. Even his fingers and toes felt warm. It was bliss, but not quite as blissful as reaching out and touching nothing to either side of him, of stretching his legs out inch by agonising inch until the full length of his body stretched across the cold tile floor. His muscles ached from lack of use and as he rose to his feet his bones complained at the stress of standing upright, but he resisted the urge to give in to that pain, holding tightly to Nemu's elbow for balance as he stood up for the first time in a year.

He wanted to walk alone, sure that he could -- but there was a temptation to use the warm spirit particles that he knew were filling his body; to let them coil around his limbs and move himself on painless puppet strings. He was determined. Standing, he could see the bright oblong of sunshine that was the door to the outside world and the sunshine beyond it.

He felt strange...as though his whole body were brand new and unused; all of the old muscle memory worn out of it by time.

"Wait. These are for you."

He'd grown used to the whisper of Nemu's voice now; it was comfortable and familiar, like a mother's should be. She pressed something into his hands -- his glasses, he realised, and he lifted them up and gently slid them into place. Instantly his tired eyes snapped into focus -- he could see the garden courtyard beyond the sliding doors, even the blades of grass on the lawn. The computer screens were filled with words and images, not just white blurs of light, and Nemu's face was crystal clear, instead of being a smudge of indistinct features. More interestingly, she was still holding something out toward him; his five pointed Quincy cross.

"I..." he hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"You are still involved in a controlled experiment, Quincy," Mayuri's voice came from the darkness behind him, and he turned, seeing the captain's frightening face clearly through the new glasses. "If you are not in control, I will neutralise the threat."

Kill him, then... Well, that upped the stakes. He took the cross gingerly, winding it twice around his wrist. This felt natural...safe.

With that comfort, he moved toward the open door, Mayuri moving to it ahead of him, and Nemu hovering at his side in case he fell. He felt feeble, weak. Each step was a series of muscle movements and changing balance that was now completely unfamiliar to him. The sunlight was well worth the effort; he basked in it, let it burn his face and his eyes, so that he could see the brightness even when he closed them. It was painful, but like the first day of sunlight after a long winter, it was a pleasurable agony. He was free -- no longer confined to a box. The world was bright around him, a shining world of spirit particles and warmth and afternoon breeze that he welcomed gratefully.

He felt himself falling and didn't try to stop himself. The ground that met him was soft and springy, and he let his face fall into the grass, inhaling the scent of it, digging his fingers into it. It was slightly wet; the green and brown dirtied the white kimono and stained his cheek as he rubbed it against the ground.

"When you're quite done..."

Oh...he wasn't. Not at all. The air was fresh and the grass was sweet. The sunshine poured down onto him like liquid gold. How could he ever stop enjoying this?

"Quincy-san!"

With a sigh he made an effort to stand up again, eventually getting his feet underneath him. His second time standing was less difficult than the first, but it still required a considerable amount of work.

"Form your bow."

For a moment, Uryuu considered disobeying, although he couldn't remember the reason why he'd want to. Forming a spirit bow -- forming _his_ spirit bow... Even if it was on command, he couldn't help the burning desire to do it himself. He'd been given permission, even though Mayuri considered him a threat...

Soundlessly he lifted his right arm, let the cross fall from its grip in his palm, concentrated the spirit particles...

The instant power of holding his weapon once more in his hand... His bow. It was _his_. He knew this. He remembered it. After a year inside a box he could forget how to walk, but he could never forget _this_. He was a Quincy archer, an Ishida -- Uryuu Ishida. And this was _his_ bow.

"I would like you to make a weak arrow. The building on the other side of this courtyard is an empty one; you may fire at it so that I may observe the damage."

A weak arrow. There was a certain pleasure in drawing his left hand back and releasing his first arrow in...actually, he hadn't asked how long it had been. The spirit particles were sparking like electricity, barely under control -- his arrows were supposed to be much cleaner than that. The sharper they were, the more damage they would do; unfocused like this they were weak. He released the arrow, and one of the tiles on the roof opposite shattered, raining terracotta dust across the other tiles, and he forgot his consternation.

"A stronger arrow. This time, make it as strong as you can without absorbing more spirit particles."

Uryuu nodded, lifting the bow again. Even without being entirely focused, this arrow blew apart the building he was aiming at. Since Mayuri did not seem concerned, neither was he.

"One more. This time, absorb the rubble from the building you destroyed. Fire the arrow upwards."

Absorb the rubble? All of it? Was he really capable of absorbing all of that? He reached his left hand toward it -- a pointless act, since he only had to direct his mind to absorb it. The raw power that came from the rubble as he tore it appart and devoured it was intoxicating. He didn't let it linger for long in his body. As he drew back the arrow violent vibration began to course through him, shaking him to the core, filling him with the powerful reverberation of the untidy spirit particles. The longer he waited, the more energy he put into the single arrow, the more his world seemed to shake. The single arrow was blindingly bright now; so bright that he had to look away as he finally let it go.

As the arrow hit the defence shield high above Seireitei, a sound like thunder made him open his eyes again. Brilliant ripples of light had erupted from where his arrow had impacted, and as that light faded, he could see that the arrow had passed through the shield and disappeared out of sight.

"As I thought," Mayuri said. He had shielded his eyes with his hand, but now he was looking straight at Uryuu. "You are far too dangerous to stay in Seireitei."

"I can leave?" Uryuu asked, surprised. That he was too dangerous did not surprise him. With an arrow that powerful...

"You are far too dangerous for the real world, too. You will have to be confined permanently, or destroyed. Of course, I would rather..."

Destroyed or killed?! No! After all this time he had been brought back, saved, and now he was to go back into his glass box - into _that_ existence? He wasn't going to let it happen!

"No."

"What's that?"

He had the power -- he wasn't going to let himself be confined here. He could feel the space around him warping, warmth flooding into his body -- the walls of the courtyard were trembling, and then they were shattering apart, turning blue and bright, gravitating toward him before they disappeared. He felt warm, the heat pouring into his body. He turned his bow toward Mayuri. "I'm leaving. Please don't try to stop me."

"You can't leave here...the gates won't open for you."

"I don't need the gates to open..."

He felt like he should thank Mayuri, somehow, but clearly the Shinigami wanted to kill him -- he wouldn't let that happen. Now he had his control back the experiment was over; he was going home, and nobody would be able to stop him.

It occurred to him only when he was quite a distance away from the 12th squad barracks that he had escaped too easily -- Mayuri knew how powerful he was, but like Szayel, he had studied him long enough to stop him escaping, Why, then? How had he managed to escape?

The gates to the material world were not well defended -- after all, they couldn't be opened without permission. Still, he would have expected Mayuri to raise the alarm. No...no; Mayuri would try and recapture his experiment without the help of other squads, wouldn't he?

Uryuu raised his bow, then lifted his hand to draw back the silver-blue string; the arrow forming easily, tighter than the last one, brimming with power as he poured it down through his fingertips. He lifted the arrow, fired it, and watched the great doors blow apart as the arrow hit them. Ah...there were the alarms. Uryuu didn't wait for company; he was going home.


	4. What's Past is Prologue

After the beautiful weather in Seireitei, the pouring rain of the material world seemed a bitter disappointment. He let it drench him, even though he could easily have prevented it from touching his skin; let the sensations overwhelm him. Cold rain soaked his hair, made it cling to his face, washed him clean in a way that felt more real, somehow, than the box had kept him. Water poured down his back, made the thin white kimono cling to the contours of his skin, splashed over the lenses of his glasses until he could no longer see out of them. Under his feet the gravel was cold and wet, and he wriggled his toes into it, exhaling contentedly.

To make his progress gentler he moved onto the grass, letting the mud squelch between his toes as he walked along the riverbank. The town was invisible from the bottom of the high walls built to protect it from flooding; it made Uryuu feel as though he was completely alone, and the sensation was eerie.

As he reached the fork in the path that led toward the center of town he did hesitate. He wasn't ready to be seen yet. There were several reasons for that, of course, but the most pressing one was his state of undress; back at his apartment there were changes of clothes, yards of material. He couldn't face Kurosaki like this...no; he wanted to look his most impressive when he faced Ichigo down. Perhaps that was why he'd been more careful than ever to conceal his reiatsu now he was finally home.

He decided to follow the rarely used path that had once been a railway track through to the center of town. It came out, quite conveniently, right behind his apartment building, and he could enter through the bathroom window without waking anyone; since he'd left the keys inside when they'd gone to Hueco Mundo, it was necessary anyway.

At the right place he jumped over the fence and climbed down the short hill, jumping up to the windowsill and using the key that he left on the ledge to unlock it. Then he carefully opened it and slid inside, letting it close soundlessly behind him.

Instantly he realised that there was something wrong. Very wrong.

The bathroom was empty of his personal effects. The bottle of gel he used to tame his hair into place, the fluffy towels, even his toothbrush. Had he been robbed? If that was the case, who would steal a toothbrush? With a deep sense of foreboding he stepped out of the bathroom into the darkness beyond and switched on the light.

Everything was gone. His bookcases and his desk, his sofa bed, his sewing machine. The whole apartment was empty, from the ceiling to the floorboards; all of his effects, all his furniture... Part of him felt a deep rage; something he pushed down to pick over and conquer later. He had fought, suffered and almost died to protect this town, and they repaid him by robbing him blind while he was gone?!

He sat down in the middle of the empty floor, suddenly feeling very cold and miserable. None of the delight of the rain soaking through to his skin remained -- only the chill -- and he shivered and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Why...? He'd come so far only to feel like he was still in that box!

Uryuu lay there until self-preservation forced him back to his feet. He was freezing; he had no money and he had no change of clothes. In this weather, he couldn't even steal from a clothes line, and it was too late to try to go shopping even if he had money. There was one place he could go, he supposed...

* * * * *

Urahara Shoten was still the same as Uryuu remembered it. The storefront was dark, soaking in the blackness of the clouds in the sky above. The windows never seemed to advertise the merchandise within. In fact, if you hadn't known what kind of shop it was, you wouldn't have been tempted to enter at all. Today, it looked like it was a funeral house, dreary and depressing.

As he approached the door he could hear an argument within, raised voices ringing clearly out through the empty storefront from the living quarters behind.

"I'm not doing it! You do it!"

"But Urahara said..."

"I don't care what he said!"

"Now then, now then! What's all this about, hmm? There's no need to argue when the weather is so beautiful!"

"Beautiful?! It's raining!"

"That's what I said. It never rained in Seireitei. I rather like it -- don't you?"

Uryuu stopped just inside the doorway, reaching up to take off his glasses so that he could try and dry them. With his clothes so wet, it was an impossible task, and it rendered him defenceless against Urahara Kisuke until the man was close enough to look him straight in the eye without putting them on.

As usual, and as expected, Urahara's expression showed nothing of his thoughts. He was a very clever man, Uryuu knew, watching him move back out of his field of vision.

Urahara said nothing; the silence he left was clearly meant to be the space in which Uryuu incriminated himself.

"I'm looking for a change of clothes," he said, wary of what he might give away with even those simple words. "Mine were all stolen."

"Stolen?" Urahara had lowered his head now, hiding his eyes behind the brim of his hat -- Uryuu recognised this particular action as calculation, so he decided to answer, in the vague but probably flawed hope that he might get some answers of his own.

"Isn't that what you call it when items disappear when you've locked them away?"

"I suppose I might call it that... Okay!" The shopkeeper tipped his head back, a broad smile now fixed into place where none had been before. It was the kind of smile that instantly aroused suspicion. What was it? What part of the story was he missing? It was frustrating not to know, and Urahara Kisuke would hold out on him now, he was sure of it. "I'll fetch you a change of clothes. You don't mind sunshine yellow, do you?"

To Urahara's credit he took Uryuu's glare as a direct answer, and he returned shortly with something white and far more acceptable. The change of clothes was warm and dry; it comforted him in its familiarity, even though it wasn't quite the outfit he was used to. It was clothing in a way that the kimono had not been.

"Would you like a bowl of something warm? We have tea...or sake?"

"..." Uryuu studied Urahara for a moment, and then, sure that it was not a request, he submitted. "I would be grateful for some warm milk," he admitted, drying his glasses on the sleeve of the jacket. He followed Urahara into the back of his shop with his eyes down, and knelt at the table, feeling the Shinigami's eyes on him.

"Who are you concealing yourself from?"

"Quincy conceal their reiatsu for the safety of the people around them," Uryuu answered, succinctly. It was a calculating question, and he didn't like not knowing what was going on inside the shopkeeper's head when he decided not to reply.

"I suppose I just want to know why you came here, instead of going to Ryuuken."

A surge of panic came to life inside his chest. His father...he didn't want to face him! He tried to push it down as he spoke, but the seed of fear was already blooming in his expression despite his best efforts. "You know Ishida Ryuuken?"

"Of course."

Uryuu looked down, embarrassed and angry. Urahara knew something, and he seemed determined not to say a word to him. Fine – if he wanted to play it that way, then Uryuu was going to have to clam up too.

"Am I going to regret my kindness?" Urahara asked, taking the tray from Jinta as it was brought in.

Another moment's hesitation as Uryuu took his bowl and answered, "You might."

"I see." There was that calculating look again.

Uryuu drunk the warm milk gratefully - it was his first since before his imprisonment - and Urahara continued to watch him out of the corner of his eye, clearly fascinated by the way Uryuu let the warmth of the bowl seep into his fingertips, and closed his eyes to savour each mouthful.

"You should rest here tonight," Urahara said, slowly. "In the morning, I'd like you to visit the cemetery with me."

Uryuu had no intention of staying the night; a fact he was sure - by past experience - that Urahara was familiar with. Rather than say so out loud, he instead said "Why?" hoping to secure a good reason.

"I would rather show you," Urahara answered. It was a bold attempt at piquing his curiosity, but Uryuu had more important things to do now.

He felt as though he had been sleeping for years, and freedom was finally his. The rain that had been thundering against the windows had finally abated, and only a brisk wind remained, whipping the raindrops away from the surface of the glass.

"Drink some sake with me."

"I'm underage."

"Oh, but I won't tell anyone."

"I don't drink." Uryuu barely contained a growl, meeting Urahara's eyes across the table.

"You don't drink? I see. That's disappointing." The man's gaze dropped away, and Uryuu lifted his hand under the pretext of adjusting his glasses, so as to hide his scowl behind his hand.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Urahara sighed. "It can't be helped. Seems I'm running low on drinking partners nowadays."

Uryuu frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't have any friends." Now that was a bald faced lie. Urahara gave him a stern look that made it clear that he was supposed to see right through it.

"I see."

It was interesting... Had they achieved everything they'd meant to by defeating Aizen? Had they made the town a safer place to live? If there really was nobody here to drink with Urahara, rather than it being an attempt at securing his presence for a few hours of insobriety where more information could be drawn from him, then it must mean that Soul Society were no longer sending extra Shinigami to protect Karakura Town.

When they'd returned from Seireitei the last time, the incidence of hollows had increased; and the desire to recover his Quincy powers had pressed in on him. Now, even with the power he now possessed, the threat had passed. Never mind that he felt as though he could have taken on Aizen himself -- he had to be grateful that his purpose was fulfilled; that the people in this town were safe.

"Now, about those clothes," Urahara started with a wolfish look. "You can pay me back..."

"Tomorrow," Uryuu said, looking up. "I'll have money to pay you by tomorrow evening."

Urahara looked disappointed; clearly one of his more devious plans had just been foiled. "Are you sure?"

"I'm certain." Uryuu coughed. "Do you mind if I lie down? I think I stayed a little too long in the rain."

"Fine, fine. Follow me."

* * * * *

The room in which Urahara had ensconced him was the same one in which he'd spent many days and nights recovering from previous injuries. The burn marks still lingered in the corner from a previous explosion which had been painted over clumsily, and one of the window panels had a bullet hole sized crack through which the wind whistled as though it were playing the glass like an instrument.

Uryuu waited until the lights began to blink off elsewhere in the building, and then he pushed aside the white sheet that covered him and slid to his feet. The clothes he was grateful for, of course, but not so grateful that he intended to stay the night. For all he knew, Urahara had a reason to keep him away from the others, and he intended to find out what it was.

He left the sandals off until he reached the door in his socks, determined not to make a noise, and as he slid back the door, he looked once more over his shoulder. No interruption…still, he couldn't help feeling as though he were being watched. No – he was definitely being watched.

Uryuu stepped out into the wind, reaching up to lift his hair from in front of his eyes and pushing it back over his shoulders. He looked into the wind, then turned away from it, letting his better judgement guide him away from Kurosaki's house and down toward the river. With open spaces, it would be easier to see if he was being followed, and if he crossed the river, he could disappear easily amongst the houses on the other side before a discreet companion could catch up with him.

Losing his tail seemed to progress to plan, surprisingly. He had expected it to be harder, and again the suspicion lingered, even after he had used hirenkyaku to return to his previous course, turning once more into the bitter north wind.

Kurosaki's house was quiet and dark; only one light was on, a bedside lamp that illuminated the Shinigami's torso in the pool of darkness that was his bedroom. It caught the violent orange of his hair and turned it into flame in the darkness, and Uryuu came closer; close enough to see the way the light made some of the strands brighter than others, and how it highlighted every tiny hair on his bare chest as it rose and fell with the steadiness of his breathing.

Uryuu watched for a few hours, until the thin rising light on the horizon reflected into his eyes from the inside of his glasses, and from the pane of glass that was between himself and Kurosaki, obscuring his view. Today he would need to devote himself to finding money and a place to stay – he would not be able to rebuild his life without confronting Kurosaki and the others, but neither could he confront them without, at the least, getting a haircut.


	5. The Calm Before the Storm

"Uryuu? Is that you?"

Marguerite was old and almost blind; her cataracts had claimed all but her colour vision years ago, but she refused to give up her little fabric shop on the corner of the main street. It was cosy and comfortable, and she looked at him as the doorbell chimed sweetly with naked hope painted over her wizened face. Her black-grey hair seemed thinner than he remembered it.

"It's me," he said, watching her expression warily as he stepped into the shop and closed the door behind him.

"Dear thing!" Marguerite warbled, pure emotion pouring from her. Fat tears rose instantly into her pale eyes, and she moved forward, grabbing for Uryuu's hands and clutching them tightly. "I worried! I thought that you had gone and died before me, and left me to face the end on my own!"

"You're a long way from the end, Marguerite." He squeezed her hands, feeling a warmth spreading through him at her comfort. She had missed him, worried about him.

"I am so glad you're here, Uryuu."

"Your display?"

"Full of spiderwebs and dust...you saw, didn't you?"

Uryuu glanced toward the windows - they were a little dirty, and the window display hadn't been updated in a long time. In comparison to the other shopfronts on the street it looked jaded and ancient. "I can fix that for you, if you'd like," he said, his voice soft with his own emotion.

"Would you?"

Uryuu nodded, guiding Marguerite back to her chair. "Just you relax with a cup of tea. I'll fix everything up for you."

Once he'd made the tea, Uryuu began his art.

The little fabric shop buzzed with the chitter-chatter of the sewing machine, it sang with the sound of fabric being snipped with scissors. Silks and chiffon, cotton and velvet -- it all bowed to Uryuu's will. He found a comfort in creating that he had not had in such a long time; felt the different textures roll beneath his fingertips, pricked his thumb with the needle once or twice and once, in his oblivious bliss, accidentally sewed the sleeve of a bell jacket onto his trouser leg. When he had finished the display, dusted and cleaned the windows, he settled down once more to sew himself a new outfit, glancing once or twice at the beautiful weather that had followed the zephyr the previous day.

"How does it look?" Marguerite asked, squinting at the beautiful white on white Quincy-style display as it shone in the afternoon sunlight. People outside were looking twice at the new window, their interest piqued.

"It's eye-catching," Ishida said, honestly. "Tomorrow you will have plenty of customers, I promise."

"Come with me, Uryuu."

Ishida followed, stopping at the counter as Marguerite opened the cash register. "For your hard work," she said, counting out money. "You are looking after yourself, aren't you, Uryuu?"

"I always look after myself," he answered. "And I look after you, Marguerite."

"Such a charmer, my Uryuu. Here you go." She pressed the money into his hand. "You take that and look after yourself. I want to see you here again soon, you understand? You can't afford to keep such an old lady waiting."

Uryuu smiled, squeezing her hand in return. "I'll come by later to make sure that business is going well, Marguerite," he told her. "Thank you."

"Thank you? Silly boy... Go on now, Uryuu." She shooed him away, so that he had to grab for his new clothes to stop her from making him leave without them. "Off with you."

******

A cushion of reiatsu stopped him from actually having to sit on the grass; it was wet, and green, and the combined effect would have ruined his pristine new clothes. It was just a little difficult to twist the tiny metal loops into submission while standing up, using the chain of his Quincy cross to close his cape together. As he let go and the chain fell heavily into place against his chest he relaxed, feeling as though another something that was wrong with the world had fallen back into place.

He pushed his hair back out of his face, letting his fingers run tracks back through the freshly cut strands. Slowly he was beginning to feel more like himself; more like someone might look at him and see Ishida Uryuu once more, rather than a bedraggled Shinigami experiment.

The little park broke up the main street, giving businessmen a place to eat their lunch, read their newspapers and smoke, it wasn't a long walk to return to the shops, and Uryuu made his next port of call the small, shabby looking estate agent on the corner.

"Hello?"

The place was empty...there was nobody behind the worn wooden desk with the stacks of files on it, and the white door with the paint flaking off it didn't open. Uryuu sat down, reaching for the first file and looking through it.

About five minutes later, as he was considering that it might be time to leave -- he might still make it to the other agent before it closed -- the door opened and a man backed through it talking on his mobile phone in a lively fashion. "No, Hiroshi-san, of course I can find someone to rent your studio. We're trying our best, I assure you." The person on the other side of the phone yelled loudly enough for even Uryuu to hear, and the estate agent turned, letting out a yell of shock as he saw him and dropping the phone.

He hurried to pick it back up. "No, Hiroshi-san. I'm terribly sorry! Of course I will! Please...just give me a week."

More yelling, and Uryuu winced this time. "No sir, thank you!" He put the phone down.

"I'm sorry about that."

"I didn't mean to frighten you."

"I..."

"Do you mind if I offer you a little bit of friendly advice?" Uryuu pressed, and did not stop to hear an answer, "People like to hear the word 'yes'."

The estate agent seemed floored for a moment, and then he coughed and hurried to sit down. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a room - a flat - an apartment. Something near the old railway track, if you have it. Actually, I'm surprised you don't remember me. Has it really been that long?"

"Pardon?"

"I rented a small apartment from you a few years ago," Uryuu said, pointedly. "My name is Ishida Uryuu, Itami-san."

"Ishida Ryuuken's son?"

Uryuu had expected it, but he bristled none the less. "Yes."

"My my -- no, I hardly recognised you. You have grown, though. And you still remember my name."

Uryuu nodded. "Do you have anywhere?"

"I...yeah. Didn't you have a place over in the third district before?"

Uryuu nodded, waiting as the man went through his files. He finally opened it to a page and showed Uryuu. It was his apartment.

It was just as he'd suspected -- the reason he was here in the first place. Okuda, his landlord, had put his apartment back on the market when he hadn't returned. His things hadn't been stolen, they had been removed. Why? Why hadn't his father stepped in? Or Kurosaki and the others? If they had come to see him, he could have asked them to do it for him. That they had been so very thoughtless enraged him. He thought of Kurosaki sleeping peacefully and the rage boiled into sizzling lava, burning at the insides of his stomach.

"You look ill, Ishida-san. Should I call the hospital?"

Uryuu looked up, his head swimming, and he put his hand on the edge of the table to steady himself. "I'm sorry, Itami-san. It's perfect. Is there any chance I could move in tonight?"

"Tonight? Well I...I suppose." He got back to his feet and hurried into the back room to fetch his papers, while Ishida studied the picture once more. The rent to secure the apartment would be almost all of the money that Marguerite had given him, but he wanted to pay it up front -- it would be hard enough convincing Itami to take the payment without any proper identification, after all.

******

His apartment. Uryuu turned the silver key in the lock and pushed open the door, stepping inside. He closed it behind him and sank back against it. There was still a damp patch in the middle of the floor where he'd collapsed yesterday, but it was his again now. His to lie on the floorboards and puzzle over how it had ended up like this; how he had spiralled into _this_.

He pushed himself away from the door and made his way through the empty, hollow apartment to the room that had once had his bed. He sat in the place it had been and lay his head down where the pillow had once laid, looking out toward the window. From the floor it was impossible to see anything but sky, and somehow it reminded him of those minutes when he had thought that he was going to die; the false blue sky of Hueco Mundo stretched out above him ready to swallow him up. If he had died in that place, would he have become a hollow too? A spirit in Hueco Mundo wouldn't stand a chance, would it? They had been the enemies, but they were also food. There was something infinitely terrifying about that.

Uryuu forced his eyes away from the window, trying to think of other things, but there were none. It was hard to remember how life had been before Hueco Mundo -- before Seireitei -- before Kurosaki. All of it chewed him up and devoured him. It was all there was of him now -- this _was_ Ishida Uryuu. It seemed that he had always been running, always been fighting. That was simply what life was.

Kurosaki. It all came back to him, didn't it? Without Kurosaki, Aizen's plan wouldn't have worked. Without Kurosaki, Orihime wouldn't have had a power to be pursued for. Without Kurosaki, they wouldn't have defeated him. Uryuu pushed his fingers into the floorboards at his sides and closed his eyes. Kurosaki on his back, blood blossoming across his temple and fierce brown eyes saying 'I will fight this thing, even if it kills me. I will protect them.' Kurosaki, always hot headed, never thoughtful, always alone; never letting anyone improve him, especially not Uryuu. Damn him.

Didn't he know that other people were there not to just be a burden to him? No, of course not. He had always fought as though he were protecting people, but instead, he had distanced himself from them, turned himself into a monster. A hollow. And Quincy killed hollows. If Kurosaki was both a hollow and a Shinigami, then what kind of Quincy was he to befriend him?

But there it was; that hollow recklessness, that greed for the fight. An untapped flow of boundless spirit energy that could just as much be used for evil as for good. He'd felt it -- he'd had it flowing through his body once, and for all of a few minutes he had had that wonderful power that was just _Ichigo_ pouring through him, as though he were some kind of spiritual transformer, breaking down that earth-shattering reiatsu into something much safer; the only one who could.

They had come a long way since then. If there were ever again a time that Kurosaki would need to rely on Uryuu once more, the substitute Shinigami would outright refuse.

There was a knock on the door, and Uryuu stood up, warily.

"I know you're in there, Uryuu."

His blood turned to ice and he froze where he stood, feeling everything trickling to a bitter stop in and around him. The voice of Ishida Ryuuken behind the door continued regardless.

"Let me in this instant."

Ishida wasn't sure what to say, or even how to say it.

His father knocked on the door again. "Uryuu," he said. "I don't have to leave this door intact. It is only a courtesy that I offer it."

The spell shattered like an icicle hitting the ground; the threats were familiar, welcome. "We made a deal before, remember?" Uryuu said, out loud. "I pay for my own life, and in return, you promise to keep away from it."

"Uryuu," there was a note of relief in Ryuuken's voice. "Please open the door."

"Leave."

"Not this time."

Uryuu could feel the spirit energy amassing, even from behind the door, and he lifted his hand and placed it gently on the panel of wood that separated the two of them. "You can't reach me by force, Ryuuken."

The older man tried it anyway -- Ryuuken's arrow hit the door, or it must have seemed to, but it was in fact simply absorbed through the wood. Uryuu kept his hand in place as he tried again, and then again.

"Uryuu! I am your father and I demand --"

"I told you to leave," Uryuu said, cutting him off sharply. "Believe that I mean it."

Silence followed by more silence. Ryuuken's veiled reiatsu hovered on the other side of the door for a moment, but then it subsided, and as it did, so did Uryuu's bravado. He sank down against the door and lay his head against it, trying to catch his breath, clawing for his self control so that he could stop spinning for a moment. He had made it a habit to stand up to his father. It had never worked out, but it had rarely been easy, even so. Every time he was left the same way, reacting to the panic that pounded in his chest. This time was no different, except somehow the menace he had felt from Ryuuken had been greater even than the last time, when even his life had been threatened.

He had wanted a father, and Mayuri had taken the only one he had from him and left him with Ryuuken instead.


	6. The Madness Within Us

Had it been Itami, the estate agent, that had alerted Ryuuken to Uryuu's return, or someone else? Who else had discovered him? Uryuu had been sure that he would go unnoticed. After all, Kurosaki had barely even realised that they were in the same class, and certainly had never recognised his reiatsu before. Why had no Shinigami pursued him, even though he had blown apart their gates to escape?

There were too many questions, all of them equally puzzling, and Uryuu knew that the old him would have had his finger on the pulse. Had so long in that cage dulled his mind so much? He didn't _feel_ stupid. But then, hadn't they followed Aizen's plan to the letter? He hadn't predicted that, either.

Uryuu opened the bathroom window and stepped out onto the shelf, balancing on it as he turned to lock the window. It was good to return to an old routine, like trying on familiar clothes. If he had been forced to choose another apartment, he would have had to discover new ways to balance his needs as a Quincy with the appearance of normality. He jumped down from the window to the grass path below, landing gracefully and then straightening back up.

Ryuuken had come to see him. Why? His father had never shown any interest before, and yet there had been that moment when something akin to emotion had resonated in the man's condescending voice. Even Uryuu had caught that, because it was simply out of character. His father had never cared for him, had never sought him out intentionally. Even when he had been injured, lying in a hospital bed in the same building as the man, he had not once came to see him. Not even to scold him.

So why now? Why that note of relief at the sound of his voice? Somehow that single thing had been more upsetting than having him here at all. His father's relief was an enigma; a Pandora's box -- it's existence upset him, simply because he could not see inside.

Uryuu followed the railway track idly in the direction of Orihime's apartment, paying careful attention to his surroundings. The autumn tea flowers were beautiful, the sad heads of purple and pink in grasses ripped by the wind and bleached by the rain -- nature felt the same was as Uryuu felt inside, ravaged and distressed. The trees were changing colour too; if the wind had caught them a week from now, they would have been shaken bare. Last year, when they had left for Hueco Mundo, the trees had already been asleep -- so now he was sure that at least one year had passed; that it wasn't just one of Mayuri's tricks to make him lose track of time.

The thought of facing the chill of winter after spending so long in the cold did not fill him with pleasure, especially with the state of his apartment. He had nothing until he earned it, and he was in no state to do anything of the kind. He had none of his tools, and he still had to confront Kurosaki before he was afforded the foresight of knowing that he had returned.

A chill crawled up his back. That feeling... A hollow... Should he leave it? Watch to see what would happen, or use it as a tool to make himself known?

His respect for himself had to win out - he was still a Quincy, no matter his personal problems, and he had put his heart into it for one reason and one reason alone, because he did not want to see people get hurt. He couldn't leave a hollow free to rampage across town without interfering. That was just who he was.

Had his hirenkyaku always been this fast? In Soul Society it had seemed faster, as though he could simply blink and the scenery would change -- he had expected it to be much slower here, but his speed had hardly dropped at all. The town disappeared from underneath him, and he landed gently on the grass at the edge of the park, in the shade of the trees, watching the millipede-like hollow bellow and roar, rising up to its full height. It had dozens of legs down the length of its long body, but instead of coming to end at only a mouth, it supported a torso as wide as a bus, two pairs of well muscled arms and an insectoid hollow mask with devilish looking fangs.

In comparison to fighting Arrancar, it would be easy.

He intentionally let his reiatsu spike, and the monster turned toward him, it's oozing, bulbuous body undulating with the movement of its many legs. It roared, pulling itself up higher, raising itself to strike, and then tumbling like a waterfall of legs toward him. The effect would have frightened a normal person, but his speciality had always been speed, and the hollow crashed face first into the ground where Uryuu had been.

And then it submerged, using its many legs as huge shovels to claw its path underground.

The most frustrating thing wasn't that it had gone underground, only that it had left such a path of destruction in its wake. The Shinigami would clear it up before anyone thought how odd it was that the park had been ripped to pieces, but that wasn't quite the point. If Uryuu had finished it sooner, there would have been no mess, so he only had himself to blame.

As he waited for the thing to reappear, he became aware of other reiatsu approaching -- two Shinigami, two human, and all of them familiar to him. The confrontation approached with magnificent speed, and he was left with a choice -- leave now and let them handle the hollow themselves, or let them watch as he destroyed it.

He hadn't decided when the ground caved in underneath him and the hollow's gaping mouth appeared from the dirt, fangs clashing together in the space where he had just stood. Uryuu was already gone, standing mere feet from the body as it emerged helplessly from the ground in front of him. He could destroy it, but he would wait until the thing faced him again, so it could be certain that it was Uryuu Ishida that killed it.

It turned and reared again and Uryuu lifted his hand; magnificent, shining Quincy bow forming with the greatest ease.

"I don't know what Kurosaki has been letting you get away with, but you should know that there is a Quincy protecting this town now. It is regrettable, but I won't be giving you a chance to warn anyone."

The monster roared and then began to tumble toward him in a fresh assault. Uryuu let his arrow rest reassuringly warm against the tips of his fingers for a moment, and with a sigh he let his eyes close before he released it. The hollow spirit tickled slightly as it fell like rain around him, soundlessly blinking out of existence, and Uryuu lowered his bow just slightly, still on guard because the familiar reiatsu had reached him now.

Only three of the four were visible when he opened his eyes and looked; not that he had needed to look to know that the fourth would conceal himself. It didn't matter. Kurosaki and Kuchiki stood together, and just to their left, obviously having taken the longer route and looking breathless, was Orihime.

There was a silence that stretched between them for long moments, and then Orihime said "Ishida?"

Ishida. It could be worse, he supposed. She could have been using his honorific. But he had almost lost his life for her, and she could not bring herself to call him by his given name. Perhaps she didn't even remember it. He did not look at her -- his eyes were fixed on Kurosaki.

"How...?" she said, despite him, and he felt her coming closer, drawn toward him.

"Inoue don't!" It was Kuchiki who interfered. "It must be a trick."

"A trick?" Uryuu said, slowly. "Do you really think so, Rukia-san?"

The Shinigami paled, and now it was Kurosaki's turn to interfere, moving to the defence of the two women. He raised his sword toward him, and Uryuu inclined his head slightly. "Do you really want to do that, Kurosaki?"

It was what he'd been waiting for -- that tiny movement that was agressive; the narrowing of Kurosaki's eyes. Uryuu moved like fluid lightning, his hand dropping to hold tightly to the flat edge of Kurosaki's sword. Kurosaki reacted -- just a moment too late, flash stepping away from him, but it was easy to keep up. Uryuu could feel the warmth that was Kurosaki's raw power, always pouring out of him, and now he reached for it, drew it out of him as though he were squeezing a sponge. He was like a power-station, and Uryuu held on, even as Kurosaki flash stepped again.

Ichigo. Pure, blinding power that felt like him even when it had been absorbed into his own. He felt just as he recalled, as though the two of them together were undefeatable, as though they were blended together into something better. And with it...with it was a sudden rush of something powerful and dangerous that made his head spin, recklessness bubbling up from within him.

"Too slow, Kurosaki. I thought you were faster than that?"

Something like panic fell into place on the Shinigami's face, and for a second Uryuu felt it too, as though Ichigo's panic had been transferred through the sword. He had never seen that expression before; never seen Kurosaki truly frightened.

"Ishida...stop it. Let go." His voice was higher, he could practically hear the fear on it. "You won't be able to control it!"

Control what? It wasn't like last time -- he wasn't transferring Kurosaki's power and useless without it; he was _taking_ it. He felt lightheaded and powerful, and he _laughed_.

If anything, this made Kurosaki look all the more frightened. They were moving faster now as he tried to shake him off.

"Let go, Ishida! Let go!"

"I already have."

The connection between them was broken, but already he felt powerful, filled with energy from such a magnificent source. Kurosaki put space between them, and Uryuu drew his bow once more, now improved by what he had taken, lifting it. He felt angry, and even that anger was an emotion he welcomed. His lip curled as he spoke. "Do you have nothing to say to me, Kurosaki?"

The Shinigami looked on edge; the fear had not yet evaporated. "Ishida, what do you think you're doing?!"

Nor did he intend to be patient. If Kurosaki could be so dense as to not know why he was angry, then Uryuu intended to give him reason to think about it more carefully. "I thought not."

He fired, aiming perfectly on target for where Kurosaki was standing, not compensating for the other's movement intentionally, although after he knew which direction he was moving in, he could perfectly easily have fired an arrow that would hit him. He wanted to rattle Kurosaki, and being chased by his arrows was adequate. He followed him from right to left, missing him with every arrow, and just as Kurosaki turned to begin an attack of his own, Rukia and Orihime ran into the clearing, having finally caught up with them.

"Stop it! Please stop it, Ishida-kun!"

Uryuu lowered his bow but did not disarm it, turning toward Orihime, confident that Kurosaki would not attack him while he was speaking. "How long did we fight beside each other?" he asked. "How often have I risked my life for you, Inoue?"

She blanched, and he took that as a small victory, nodded once to Rukia, and then gave one more firm look over his shoulder. Kurosaki was watching him with the focussed expression he had seen him wear only in deep battle, his sword gripped tightly in one white hand.

"A little recognition," Uryuu snapped, raising his voice. "A little respect!" He narrowed his eyes, bow blazing as his fury rose, unable to contain the vast energy that he had stolen from Kurosaki. "To forget me after everything I've done for you!"

They looked at least a little cowed by his temper. Orihime was still blanched white, and Rukia was looking down at her feet. Kurosaki had lowered his zanpakuto by the slightest angle, but that would be as disarmed as he would become after such an agressive attack.

It was time to go. He would leave them to think about his return, to consider where they had gone wrong, and mostly, he would need some time alone to calm down. He could feel the anger burning at the inside of his chest in a way he had never felt it before. It wanted him to strike out at them, to make them suffer for leaving him to Mayuri all this time. He wanted to punish them. But even so...even though he wanted it... He wasn't like that! He wasn't a monster! He would have to give them a chance to earn his forgiveness first.

Uryuu retreated, starting by returning to the clearing to see if he could locate the reiatsu he had felt earlier. There was nothing now, only a hint of it that was insubstantial. He recognised it of course, and he had no great desire to hunt out the person it belonged to. Still...there was something else here...a hint of reiatsu that was almost nothing. Perhaps it was a remnant of the hollow, or perhaps someone else had been watching him. Whoever they were, they were gone now, so Uryuu drew away, his own spirit pressure cloaked once more. There was one more thing he had to do before he returned home, and he would have to be quick before Kurosaki regrouped and came this way himself.

He stopped outside the small shop and pushed open the door, stepping inside. If he was quiet, he could simply return the money and leave. But of course, he hadn't been that lucky so far, there was no reason to suspect that he would be now.

When the door opened at the back of the shop, he certainly didn't expect to see Mayuri Kurotsuchi standing framed in the light, and when he turned to look for an escape route, Nemu was standing behind him.

"You've been waiting for me."

"Urahara Kisuke told me that you would be here. It wasn't particularly easy to convince him that I had your best interests at heart." A predatorial smile crept over the Shinigami captain's face, and Uryuu was confident that it was most definitely not what Mayuri had in mind for him. "It is the perfect time," he continued, "To observe what returning here has done to your body."

"What it's..." Realisation poured over Uryuu. "You let me escape intentionally," he said, certain now that it was the truth. Mayuri's blank face, although it did not change, only confirmed it.

"Everything is simply a part of my experiment, Quincy. It is your only purpose."

A sharp needle plunged into his neck, and he managed to hear Nemu apologise to him before everything went black.

It was dark when he opened his eyes again. There was a futon underneath him, and his bedroom window was filled with the swollen autumn moon. When he reached up to confirm that he had not simply been dreaming, the dried blood on his neck was evidence enough. He sat up, his head throbbing, very aware of the weakness that filled his limbs, the familiar chill that lingered in his fingers and toes. He felt drained, as though Mayuri had siphoned off all of the energy he had taken to see how much there was.

That must have been the presence he had felt. It must be an important experiment for Mayuri to come all the way from Seireitei to observe it, but it did not make him feel any more comfortable. He had thought that he had escaped, but now he knew that it simply wasn't the truth. He was still an experiment. Still just something for Shinigami to crush under their feet if they felt like it. Well it was too much. They had persecuted Quincy to the brink of extinction, but it would end with him. One way or another, this experiment stopped _now._ He would be recognised as deserving of life, or he would fight to the death to obtain it.


	7. Pussy Cat, Where Have You Been?

Uryuu took tentative steps out into the darkness of the main room. It was still empty, lit in white stripes by the bold moonlight that came in through the open blinds. Somehow he'd expected to find it transformed into a carbon copy of Mayuri's lab, with the scientist bustling about, but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps whatever he'd had to do had been done while he was sleeping... Still, he had both his arms and legs...what could Mayuri have possibly done?

Hadn't Szayel said that he had used his own brother so subtly that he did not know about it? Maybe Mayuri was doing the same thing, studying everything he did with tiny probes in his blood. How was he supposed to fight back against something like that when he didn't even know they were there? He could hardly destroy his own blood...

Damn it. He felt weak, and the energy that had been drained from him left him feeling lethargic and cold too. He had to recover some of it -- when he'd done that, maybe he'd be able to think straight.

He dressed and cleaned himself, pleased to discover that the water was still working, at least, and then stepped out onto his windowsill, oblivious to being watched.

"You caused quite a stir, didn't ya, stranger? Everyone's so busy talking about you that they've given up whining about me."

Ishida turned on the windowsill to face the speaker, slightly taller than himself with short, ice blue hair. He didn't recognise him, and even though the figure stood perfectly balanced on the line of barbed wire that topped the fence, he didn't let off even a whisper of reiatsu. Was it a gigai? Could it be, when this man was most certainly not a Shinigami?

"Seems to me that anyone who can hold their own against Ichigo's worth fighting," said the stranger. There was a certain cockiness in the wideness of his grin, and Uryuu wasn't entirely sure he liked it. Who was this man? He seemed to be trying to pick a fight with him.

"You don't even know me, do you?" Uryuu asked.

"Don't have to. You don't know anyone until you've spilled their blood, anyway."

Uryuu felt weary, he wasn't really up for a fight right now. He looked back to the stranger impatiently, opening his mouth to turn him down, but before he could speak the man was moving toward him with remarkable speed, throwing his body weight forward so that he came at him feet first. The feet missed his head by inches and grazed his shoulder, but it was enough to get his attention. As the stranger landed catlike on the windowsill, Uryuu landed on the vacated line of barbed wire and drew his bow.

"I'm not allowed to fight in town - stupid Shinigami rules - but if you can keep up I know somewhere nice and close where I can get out of this stupid meat-sack and fight you properly."

The stranger shook his arms out, as though erasing the tension from them -- he was fast, even in the gigai. Not as fast as Uryuu, but fast none the less. And still there was not even a hint of reiatsu.

"What makes you think I'm going to follow you?" Uryuu asked, keeping his bow by his side so that he could keep both of his eyes on the stranger.

"Cause if you don't I'll accidentally blow a cero through this building, and I reckon you wouldn't appreciate it that much."

Cero... A _cero_?! "You're...you're a Hollow?" That was disbelief...and in a battle situation, surprise was not to his advantage. Worse still...how had this Hollow got into a gigai? He hadn't even known it was possible. Did Kurosaki know about it?!

"Espada, if you believe it," said the stranger-hollow. "You just gonna stand there, or are we going to fight?"

The man took off, Uryuu watching in disbelief. An Espada? But Mayuri had said that Aizen had been defeated...and what were these Shinigami rules he'd mentioned? Were they just letting him live here? Idiots! Didn't they know that a Hollow was a Hollow?! They were supposed to be destroyed, not left to just wander around!

Well, if Kurosaki wasn't going to take care of the trash, then he'd just have to deal with it himself! Honestly! Hollows were dangerous. They put people in danger. Hell, they _ate_ their souls. And if this one was an Espada...what kind of insanity was it that it was just being allowed to stay here? It wasn't even sane!

He followed, easily catching up with the Hollow. He'd have to wait until it left the gigai, and then he could kill it. "If you're an Espada, you must have a number," he said, abandoning his hirenkyaku to follow at the gigai's pace of huge jumps.

"Sexta Espada," was the response. Sixth? That was two above Szayel... Was he really up to fighting someone on that kind of level? He had to be...he couldn't let this thing just run free. "We're there!" the creature said, interrupting his train of thought as he landed for the last time in the centre of an empty field. Uryuu touched down at a safe distance, his bow still humming at his side.

Yes...yes, this was a suitable area for fighting in. Nothing he destroyed here could hurt people...but more importantly, nothing he absorbed. Could he even absorb things in the material world like he had in Seireitei? In Seireitei they had been made up only of spirit particles, but here, they were only a constituting part of everything. It didn't surprise him, then, that when he attempted to absorb them, the scenery did not change - he was drawing the spirit particles out of the scenery without absorbing the scenery itself. Of course, the power he generated was nowhere near the same as it had been in Seireitei; something he should have expected.

While he considered this problem, the stranger's gigai was making a beeline for the cover of the trees, and in the centre of the clearing, his reiatsu very noticeable now - a strong power that very much resembled that of a hollow - stood the Sexta Espada.

"My name is Grimmjow Jeagerjaques."

"I thought you could only know someone when you spilt their blood," Uryuu said, taking a step back. There was a Hollow mask - or part of one, at least; just a shard of jawbone attached to the right hand side of the man's face. The teeth were sharp, as though from some carnivorous creature.

"Yeah," said the Espada, his tone mocking, "Thing is, the only blood that's gonna get spilled is yours."

If Uryuu had considered the gigai to be fast, it was nothing to the speed of the Espada Sonido. Even at the new level he had achieved, it was difficult to keep away from the quick, fierce offensiveness of Grimmjow's attacks. Each movement would only bring them closer together, the pursuer having the advantage over his prey. He would never be able to keep it up, let alone pull away...

_Smack_. A single hesitation between footfalls and the Espada caught up with him, one hand closing on the back of Uryuu's neck, then pushing him down into the ground. The momentum flipped him over, sending him to a painful landing on the grass. Even though it took mere moments to find his feet, the pursuit had already begun again. He ran, the gazelle before the panther, the mere act of being forced to flee wearing at him. That was it, wasn't it...? He made himself an easy target when he ran, and his attacker came closer because he was always approaching, always with his eyes on the enemy, rather than looking away, as Uryuu was forced to. It was the same thing Mayuri was doing.

When Uryuu stopped, there was not enough range to fire properly, but a wall of arrows did what it was supposed to do, forcing Grimmjow to dodge away from his attack and put more room between them.

_-------_

It was a beautiful Spring day -- the world smelled like blossom and dew, and the stones on which they sat together were warm for the first time in months. The birds sang, knowing that the world was coming back to life at last and it was time to lay eggs. Everything was so very alive.

"Which animal do you think you are, Uryuu?"

"The hare, Sensei. I want to be like the hare."

Ishida Soken looked down at the March hares in the valley below. They jumped and pranced, then galloped at full speed, racing each other through the thick spring grass. Uryuu watched too, fascinated - the speed of the hares had always impressed him. He wanted to run that fast -- to watch the ground disappear underneath him, unbeaten by all others.

"Hares tire too, Uryuu. They may run like that for March, but they cannot do so forever."

This was a lesson, Uryuu realised, sitting forward to listen to his Sensei. His lessons were always important, even if father said that he was just a crazy old man.

"Do you see the hawk, circling in the sky above, Uryuu."

"Yes, Sensei."

"The hawk is waiting for April. When the hare cannot run any more, the hawk is waiting."

Was it true? Did the hares in the field really only have a month to delight in their existence? No...it was merely representational. His brow furrowed as he thought about it, watched the hawk circling and the hares leaping. The hares were prey...if they were too tired to run away, then the hawk would kill them.

"It...doesn't matter how fast you are, because you only have to make one mistake to be dinner," Uryuu said, a note of worry in his voice; he did not wish to disappoint his sensei.

"No, Uryuu." That single word made him bow his head. "No, Uryuu, but you are close. I merely mean that you must be the hawk. A Quincy cannot afford to be the hare, living only until he makes a mistake; he must be the hawk, taking advantage of the mistakes of others."

-------  
  
"I don't care what kind of green card Kurosaki gave you," Uryuu said, out loud. "Hollows have no place in the material world."

Grimmjow laughed. "You're sure full of yourself, aren't you? Well, it doesn't matter. If you're shooting to kill, this is going to be much more fun!"

This Espada was most definitely nuts. Maybe they all were. Szayel hadn't exactly been sane either. Uryuu tightened his grip on his bow and lifted it, watching as Grimmjow turned and came at him again. The curtain of arrows he fired did not drive him off on this assault, and Uryuu was forced to dodge, barely avoiding a flailing spin that the monster threw in at the last second. His hirenkyaku separated them again as Grimmjow found his feet, and then he charged another arrow, letting go of it when the Espada was too close to completely avoid it.

Even so, the arrow did not slow the Espada down. It impacted, and then Grimmjow barrelled clean into him, clinging tightly to his chest as he fell at high speed, then just before impact kicking him into the ground. The force was almost unbearable. He was strong, and fast, and held on tightly to Uryuu's chest until he had almost stopped moving, planting one foot on the ground above his head and throwing him away over his shoulder.

Uryuu found his feet before he could crash again, rushing into another speedy retreat before Grimmjow could pursue him. They were moving back toward the edge of town now, and the gradient was rising toward the heights of the huge cemetery that towered above the buildings below. He turned to face the Espada once more, raising his bow to fire.

"That's enough!"

The sound of Urahara's voice startled him, an unwelcome interruption in a battle which he had been devoting all of his concentration to. He felt like a child sneaking out to see Sensei when he should be doing his homework, only to be caught out by his father.

Urahara was not alone; Ichigo stood beside him, a cloak wrapped around his shoulders, hood pulled over his head. He could not feel his spirit power at all -- and yet there he was. One of Urahara's Shinigami tricks. He narrowed his eyes.

"I was only having a little fun," Grimmjow yelled. "You guys are so dull!"

"You," Uryuu said, addressing Urahara. "You're in on this!"

"In on what, Ishida-san?"

"Mayuri! You led him straight to me!"

"That is true." Urahara said, lifting his hand to rub at the back of his head. "Sorry about that."

"Sorry?!" Uryuu had not disarmed, and now he turned his bow on Urahara. "Give me a good reason not to kill you for it, Shinigami."

At Urahara's side, Kurosaki moved. The shopkeeper stayed him with the end of his cane and raised his eyes once more to Uryuu. "I'm sorry, Ishida-san, but you have been lied to. I will explain everything, but first of all, you need to lower your weapon."


	8. The Lies We Tell to Keep You Safe

Uryuu was almost entirely certain that the Espada did not want to be there. He lay at one end of the table, drawing rings on the floor and looking anywhere but at himself, Urahara and Ichigo.

"Tea again?" he asked, the aggravation obvious in his growling voice. "Aizen was always forcing use to drink it...you know it disagrees with us Hollows, right?"

"There's absolutely no evidence to support that, Grimmjow-kun. You must be imagining it."

"Grimmjow-kun? Now listen here you slipper-hatted-freak, I didn't agree to any of this stuff when I came here!"

"Grimmjow!" It was the first word Ichigo had said, and then tension in his voice was clear. The Espada snapped his mouth shut with an audible click, but he still didn't sit up straight, and when Ichigo was done glowering at him he went back to looking at his hands.

"My, my. There's too much tension in this room. It's just a cup of tea." Urahara poured it into bowls, and Grimmjow huffed and sat up when the shopkeeper glowered at him. "First of all, Ishida-kun, I need to inform you of the sad news of your death.

Uryuu was relieved not to have picked up his bowl yet -- if he had done, he might have dropped it. Instead he wrapped his hands tightly around the edge of the table and tried to absorb the statement. Everything seemed to snap into place, all at once. "My death," he said, breathlessly.

"As far as myself, Kurosaki and your friends knew, you died in Hueco Mundo. As you can imagine, it was quite a surprise for me when you walked into my shop; so much so that I alerted your father, Ishida Ryuuken; only he could possibly confirm your identity. If you'd stayed a little longer, I would have taken you to visit your grave, but for some reason you did not trust me." Urahara sipped his hot tea, if only to look out from underneath the brim of his hat and over the brim of the bowl at once, and say mysteriously, "I decided to find out why."

"So you followed me?"

"Not at all. I followed Ryuuken, and Ryuuken followed you."

His father's faint reiatsu in the clearing... He'd looked for him, but of course he had already been gone.

"And you saw what happened with Ichigo?"

Urahara shared a look with Ichigo, then nodded. "That was why I convinced him not to pursue you. You were drunk on power, Ichigo's power. It was quite unlike everything you were used to. I informed Captain Kurotsuchi of where you would be, and then I watched him." Uryuu bristled as Urahara paused, but did not find the words to interfere before he continued. "If your friends had known where you were, Ishida-kun, they would have come for you. Captain Kurotsuchi kept you a secret. He is under a lot of pressure to come up with a way to fight Aizen."

Uryuu set his bowl very carefully down on the table and stood up, glowering at the shopkeeper. His shoulders were shaking. "You're making excuses for him now? For what he's done?! He's a monster!"

"Ishida-kun, please sit down. I am trying to explain..."

"No." He couldn't take much more of this... If he stood here and listened to it, something in his calm resolve was going to shatter. "I need some air."

"Oi, stranger," Grimmjow was standing up now, flexing his muscles as though ready to push him around, "Why don't you just sit down and listen to what the slipper-hatted-freak had to say, and I won't have to make ya!"

Ichigo was standing too, now, taking hold of Grimmjow's elbow and restraining him. "Grimmjow..."

Enough. Uryuu turned and kept walking until there were three sliding doors between himself and the rest of them, and the brisk night air filled his grateful lungs, chasing away the claustrophobia. The door slid open and closed behind him, and when he turned to yell, he found himself face to face with Ichigo.

"Kurosaki..." He turned away, unable to face him. "I want to be alone right now."

"Ishida..." Kurosaki paused, and then it all burbled out of him at once. "We didn't know. You have to forgive us...and if you won't forgive me, you ought to at least forgive Orihime. She refused to mourn for you...she stopped eating. She thought she was the reason you were dead. Even though I knew it must be my fault."

Uryuu scowled, deciding not to answer, or even look at Ichigo. He stared at the brick wall on the opposite side of the courtyard instead. Orihime had blamed herself...no wonder she had looked so upset in the clearing.

"I'm the one who made us split up. If I hadn't done that..." Ichigo began.

"It was a tactical decision, and a correct one," Uryuu interrupted. "I don't resent you for that. I resent you for giving up."

"We searched as long as we could," Ichigo said, seemingly only just keeping his temper. "Soul Society insisted that we retreat."

"And instead of continuing to look for me, you obeyed them," Uryuu hissed. "If it had been anyone else, you'd have stayed."

"But we'd have found nothing!" Now Ichigo was growling - not quite shouting. "That freak Mayuri had already taken you away!"

Uryuu turned, glaring at Ichigo. "I think you miss my point, Kurosaki. Even if it's been stolen, you're not supposed to stop looking for it! You didn't know I wasn't there, but you still stopped searching."

Ichigo glowered for a moment longer, then submitted, dropping his gaze away. "I don't care if you forgive me or not," he sighed. "Just forgive Orihime and Chad. And come back inside. You need to know why..."

"Do you even know what it was like?" Uryuu asked, ignoring Ichigo still. "To sit there day after day and watch the sun rise and fall, sunshine and moonlight, over and over again, the days blurring into nothingness, and nobody comes? You came to Soul Society for the sakura festival. You came, and I was there, waiting for you, but you didn't visit, and you didn't save me..."

His eyes were stinging, and he lifted his hands to take off his glasses and discovered tears on his fingertips. He didn't dare turn toward Ichigo in case he saw, but he could hear the pitch of his voice raise as he struggled to hold the tears in and speak at the same time, "You left me there with the man who had murdered my grandfather, and you stopped looking for me. You declared me dead. If I'm not supposed to hate you for it, Kurosaki, who can I hate for it?

"Because I need to," he went on, desperately, and the tears were pouring down his cheeks now. "I need someone to answer for it...otherwise..." Kurosaki's hand fell on his shoulder and he closed his own hand so tightly around his glasses that he might break them. "Otherwise..." he said, again, and the words faded away. His head was pulled down until it rested against Kurosaki's shoulder, and he felt the the Substitute Shinigami take the weight of his body and all of his woes at once.

"You don't have to forgive me, Ishida...but I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I would have fought everyone in Soul Society at once if I'd known that you'd been taken there...I wouldn't have let it happen."

"But you didn't," Ishida whispered, turning his head to at least dry some of his tears on Ichigo's shoulder before he looked up. "You left me for dead."

Ichigo's eyebrows were turned upward - the look of contempt erased by his concern. "Ishida...I didn't realise until you were gone what you meant..."

Until you were gone.

It was the very worst thing that Kurosaki could have said. That he was more important to him once he realised that he wasn't there any more, and therefore had been superfluous beforehand. The doors snapped closed over his heart, and Uryuu pressed his teeth together firmly, making his jaw ache.

"Enough, Kurosaki. Tell me honestly. The first time you remembered my name was when you read it on my gravestone, wasn't it? Until then, I was just Ishida. And that's just it...you didn't care to get to know me, to even learn my name. You can't even say it now. So how...how can you say these things to me? How can you welcome me back?"

He pulled back, turning away from Ichigo and putting his glasses on to hide his stinging eyes. Ichigo looked hurt, and now he didn't dare look at him. "I longed to hear those things, Kurosaki. I longed to earn them. But I gave up. I gave up when you didn't come for me. Don't think you can change that with an apology."

"Uryuu..."

"Don't!" By the time he had turned toward Kurosaki there was a bow in his hand, and an arrow pointed straight at Ichigo's heart. He didn't move, but Uryuu wished he would -- wanted him to move so he had an excuse to let go of his sanity and release some of this awful tension.

"Oi, Ichigo. If anyone's going to be fighting with the pretty boy it's gonna be me, got it? I still owe him for this." Grimmjow pushed the sliding door open wide beside them, eyeing them ferally. "Slipper-hatted-freak told me to remind you that yer tea's getting cold. He's acting cool, but I reckon that means he's pissed, so take a hint and get back in there before he comes out here himself."

Ichigo did not look at Ishida, merely stepped around Grimmjow and walked away.

"You coming, or do I have to make you cry again?" Grimmjow's sharp teeth curled into a grin, and Uryuu scowled, disarming his bow. Maybe it was time to find out exactly what else Urahara wanted to tell them... Then he could go home and try and forget about Ichigo once and for all.

He disarmed his bow and led the way back into the building.

"Thank you for joining us."

Uryuu settled down at the table once more, and Grimmjow slunk to his end, stretching out disappointedly on the floor again. Clearly he'd been hoping for a fight, and had been denied.

Ichigo, if anything, looked more depressed even than before. He had pulled up the hood so that it concealed his expression, and Urahara seemed to be trying to ignore him. If anything, it made the table all the more unfriendly.

"What I am about to tell you is a secret, Ishida-kun. You must tell nobody."

Uryuu scowled, not impressed.

"Aizen killed the king a long time ago. More than ten years ago, in fact. All this time, with the Arrancar, and the battle in Hueco Mundo...it was all simply for his entertainment. And he has kept us running in circles long enough that his real plans are now solidly set in motion. He found the royal key that Yamamoto had hidden in Karakura town itself -- the one who owned it was not even aware that it was in her possession. Since she was not guarding it, Aizen simply took it and entered through the King's gate while we were fighting."

"Wait..." Uryuu frowned, his brain working to keep up. "You're talking about Orihime?"

Urahara looked down into his undrunk tea, staring at the loose tealeaves at the bottom of the liquid. "I am. Inoue Orihime was the King's daughter, and the guardian of the key after his death. Aizen has known this all along. It was a vital ingredient in all of his plans -- and then to trap Orihime-san in a dimension she could not escape, so that she could not interfere until it was too late. It all went exactly as Aizen meant it to go."

There was some kind of terrible misery that was written over the shopkeeper's face. Uryuu had never seen him like this. Did he consider himself to be responsible for Aizen's treachery somehow? Was that what this was?

"Short of destroying Karakura Town, there is no way to open the gate from this side. All of Soul Society is trying their hardest to come up with a solution...and that...that is why Mayuri Kurotsuchi did what he did. He could tell, as I can tell, that your power is enough to break through the gates and stop Aizen once and for all."

Uryuu sank back, looking at the bowl of cold tea and then at his hands. That was it? That was why he had been locked in a box for a year, forbidden from seeing his friends, fed through a bottle? "You can't be serious," he said, darkly. "You think I can break into Heaven? You think I would, for something so corrupt as Soul Society? Where you experiment on Quincy - on human souls - just because you feel you have the right?! If you want to defeat Aizen, you can do it without my help! I'm through helping!"

He was angry...probably not thinking straight...but if they were all going to depend on him for this, then he was determined to make them crawl to him for help. They deserved no less. How could they ask him for help when they had left him to suffer all this time?

"Ishida-kun, you're the only chance we have of stopping him."

"If you think I'm the only chance," Uryuu growled, standing up, "then you clearly haven't been looking hard enough. You never know," he turned a glare on Ichigo, "perhaps the answer is right in front of your noses?!"

This time he left. He had been filled in. He knew the truth. He knew that to them, he was still not a friend; only a tool; a weapon. There was nothing more to it than that. Perhaps he would forgive them...but they would have to earn that. After everything...after everything, he would make them earn it.


End file.
